In the cold winter three years ago, the wind and snow outside Gusu City tore the battle flags apart, and the sky and the earth were covered with white. Xie Yun reined in his horse and stood in front of the battle. There was thick snow on his black fox cloak, and even his eyelashes were condensed with tiny ice crystals. He slowly put down the telescope. The frost on the lens blurred his vision, but it could not hide the sight of the broken five-color flag on the east city wall fluttering in the smoke.
The telegram sent from his old house in Beijing two days ago was still churning in his mind: "The Marshal has suffered a stroke and may not survive the winter solstice." Every word was like a sharp knife, cutting his heart and making it bleed.
"Young Marshal! Urgent news!" A messenger stumbled and ran wildly in the snow, and when he knelt heavily on the ground, a piece of blood-colored snow mud splashed. His hands could not stop shaking. He held the telegram high up, and his voice was full of anxiety and fear that could not be concealed. He almost cried and shouted: "The enemy has broken through Loumen, and Marshal Liu ordered our army to defend it immediately!"
Xie Yun's knuckles were bruised by the reins. The journey from Suzhou to Beijing was long. Even if a special train on the Jinpu Line was dispatched immediately, it would take three full days and three nights. He looked at the enemy troops pouring in from the gap in the city wall in the distance, and his throat suddenly tightened.
"Pass the order!" Xie Yun suddenly drew out the sword from his waist. The sharp and piercing sound of the blade breaking through the air startled the last jackdaw perched on the dead tree. The jackdaw flapped its wings, made a shrill cry in the wind and snow, and then disappeared in the vast white snow.
"The first group will encircle the Xu Gate, and the rest..." He paused, and his voice suddenly turned cold, like a blade tempered from thousands of years of ice, exuding a bone-chilling chill, "Follow me and crush the spines of those bastards!"
The military order was as heavy as a mountain, and the iron cavalry crushed the snow. Xie Yun took the lead, his black fox cloak fluttering like a dark cloud in the wind, and he rushed into the enemy camp first. In an instant, shouts, neighs, and gunfire intertwined, deafening. The cold light of his unsheathed long sword reflected the frightened faces of the enemy. The long sword was so powerful in his hand that wherever the blade passed, the enemy fell down like wheat being cut, and blood spurted out like a fountain, dyeing the white snow red.
Blood splattered all over his armor, forming a thick layer of ice, but it was gradually melted by the new blood.
For seven days, heavy snow fell over Gusu City without stopping. Xie Yun led his troops in a desperate fight with the enemy. His personal soldiers fell one after another beside him, with more than half of them killed, but he never had the slightest intention of retreating.
At dusk on the seventh day, the setting sun was as red as blood, dyeing the entire battlefield a terrifying red. The messenger stumbled into the tent, his hair covered with icicles, and shouted in a trembling voice: "Young Marshal... Marshal Xie... is dead."
The tent suddenly became dead silent, with only the occasional "crackling" sound from the charcoal basin. Xie Yun's arm bandage was soaked with blood, and he was nailed to the ground, his ears were buzzing, and his mind was blank.
My thoughts instantly drifted to the day I left Beijing, when my father, despite his illness, had walked me to the corridor, his gray beard stained with coughed-up blood foam: "Now... you should focus on the war..."
The military newspaper in Xie Yun's hand fell to the ground with a "pop". The ink was soaked with blood and the words were blurred.
"Young Marshal..." The deputy general called him softly, his voice full of worry and grief.
However, Xie Yun just slowly raised his hand and waved it weakly, signaling him to retreat. The war was urgent and he could not afford to be sad or weak for a moment. He endured the pain in his heart that felt like thousands of arrows piercing his heart, suppressed his feelings of loss, mounted his horse again, and rushed into the bloody battlefield without hesitation.
The sound of fighting on the battlefield became more and more piercing. Xie Yun was like an angry lion, his eyes were red, and he swung his sword like crazy, with each blow carrying endless anger and determination. Blood splashed on his face, warm and salty, but he seemed to feel no pain, only the cold wind like a knife cutting, pouring into his body through the gaps in his armor, freezing him all over.
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